


Ctrl

by Sexxica



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Robots & Androids, Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Android John, Android John Watson, Androids, Bottom Sherlock Holmes, Dom John, Dom John Watson, First Time, Hand Jobs, Implied/Referenced Drug Use, Johnlock Roulette, Light Dom/sub, M/M, Masturbation, Minor Violence, Pain, Past Drug Use, Spanking, Sub Sherlock Holmes, Top John, Top John Watson, Virgin Sherlock
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-03-31
Updated: 2014-03-31
Packaged: 2018-01-17 18:09:16
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 6,676
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1397536
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sexxica/pseuds/Sexxica
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sherlock is fresh out of rehab and Mycroft does worry so.  Enter John, a newly refurbished and experimental android with the mission to look after Sherlock in whatever that entails.  Sherlock doesn't need a babysitter, of course not, but maybe John knows just what Sherlock needs to get his life and health back in order.  What Sherlock needs is control.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> [Follow me on Tumblr!](http://sexxicawrites.tumblr.com/)

“Sherlock, pay attention.  I know you think that murders are the most important thing in the world, but if you don’t start looking after your health, the dead bodies of others will be the least our worries.” Mycroft droned on, nasally and annoying as usual.  Sherlock made a noncommittal noise, not even glancing up from his laptop, let alone paying him any attention.

Mycroft gave a mildly exasperated sigh.  “I thought as much.” he said before turning toward the open doorway.  “John, you may come up now.”

Sherlock narrowed his eyes, what was Mycroft up to this time?  It was bad enough he had insisted on the rehabilitation facility.  What an utter waste of time and undoubtedly money that had been.  He thought he could expect at least a bit of freedom after enduring two months in that glorified and overpriced prison.  And the group therapy.  Ugh, what an exercise in self-control that had been.

Sherlock watched as a short and sturdy looking blonde man walked through the doorway into the flat, his hands clasped behind his back and a placid expression on his face.  Hmm, no, barcode behind the ear, not a man after all, just a very good simulation of one.

“Sherlock I would like you to meet John.  He’s going to be living with you now.  Your new caretaker if you like.”

Sherlock snorted at that, “I hardly need a babysitter, Mycroft.  I’m not a child.”

“Debatable.” Mycroft sneered back at him.  “John is an experimental retrofit of an older model military droid.  It’s an attempt to re-use them for domestic service rather than being decommissioned when they are no longer fit for service.  This one used to work in a medical unit, isn’t that right?”

“Yes, sir.” the android responded, his voice calm and patient-sounding.

“Perfect for keeping an eye out for you, dear brother.  You will of course report any malfunctions or glitches directly to me, and I _will_ be checking up.”  Mycroft said, gathering up his umbrella and giving John a perfunctory pat on the shoulder as he walked out the door.  

Sherlock rolled his eyes at his brother’s back as he left.  Meddler.  Sherlock glanced up at the android, still standing by the door, hands clasped behind his back.  He was wearing dark jeans, a collared shirt buttoned primly to the top button, and a truly hideous oatmeal coloured jumper.  He had a duffel bag next to him.  An ex-military medical droid, how odd.

“Where may I put my things?” John asked, interrupting Sherlock’s thoughts.

“Hmm? Oh, I suppose you can use the room upstairs.” Sherlock said, waving his hand in the direction of the staircase.  The android gave him a short nod and turned on his heel to make his way to the room upstairs.

Sherlock watched him go, noticing a limp in his gait and and the way he clenched and unclenched his left hand almost compulsively.  Sherlock went back to his laptop while he listened to John rustle around in the disused bedroom upstairs, putting away the clothing and maintenence items he had brought with him.  He wondered briefly what exactly he was meant to do with an android.  He wasn’t about to let one start running his life.  Mycroft was starting to get incredibly overbearing.  It wasn’t even an overdose, just a slight miscalculation.  Nothing to produce this level of fuss over.

Sherlock went back to examining the crime scene photos on his laptop.  He had to be missing something, something obvious.  He scrutinized every detail over and over again while he reached over to the pack of cigarettes on the desk.  He lit one and inhaled deeply, letting the hot, acrid smoke fill his throat before exhaling a pleasing cloud, the nicotine already flowing through his veins, focusing his thoughts.

“Poisoning, then?” Sherlock jerked at the sound of John’s voice so close behind him.  He hadn’t heard him walk up.  “Oh, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to disturb you.  Your brother told me you were a detective of sorts.”

“Did he? What else, exactly, did Mycroft tell you?” Sherlock asked, unable to keep the contempt out of his voice.

“I’ve been told to look out for your health, and in particular any signs of drug use or overwork. Other than that, I am to simply be of assistance in whatever that entails, Mr. Holmes.”  John said, as Sherlock observed his thin lips, and the wrinkles in his forehead.  His simulated age and openness were likely meant to produce the appearance of experience and knowledge in order to put medical patients at ease.  His face was incredibly expressive, especially for a droid.  He must be a first-class model, or it was part of his recent upgrades.

“Call me Sherlock.”

“Of course, Sherlock.”  John gave him an easy smile at that.  “I was also informed that you had quit smoking.”

“I’m afraid you have been misinformed then, John, as I most certainly have not.”  Sherlock petulantly blew a cloud of smoke in John’s direction.  “Now, about you.  Why exactly were you discharged from the army?  It would have had to be some spectacular kind if damage for you not to have simply been repaired.”

“Ah, armor piercing round destroyed my shoulder assembly.  It took off my left arm, a good portion of my chest, and fried my wiring.” John said, seeming almost bashful about it.  “My processor and memory were intact though, which made me a good candidate for the retrofitting program.”

“And the limp?” Sherlock questioned, he had expected the damage to be to John’s leg or hip, but clearly that wasn’t the case.

“Diagnostics are unclear.  It’s likely some loose wiring somewhere, but as of yet, no technician has been able to locate the exact problem.  I assure you it will not interfere with any tasks you give me.”

Sherlock only responded with a hum, with his curiosity about John sated his attention was already slipping back to the case in front of him, his mind turning over all the details.  John had been right, it was a poisoning, but the problem was how it had been administered.  There were no needle marks, no pills, and nothing at the crime scene that seemed to be the source.  Wait, _John had been right_.  He worked in a medical unit, this could be helpful after all.

“John?” Sherlock called out and the android walked out of the kitchen, carrying a mug that he set down on the desk next to Sherlock’s laptop.  Coffee?  John had made him coffee?

“Yes?” John asked.

“I umm.” Sherlock was taken aback for a moment by the domesticity of the unasked for, but most definitely wanted coffee.  He shook his head quickly to centre his thoughts.  “You have medical experience, what do you make of these? We know she was poisoned, but can’t figure out how it was administered.”

John leaned over Sherlock’s shoulder as he flipped through the series of crime scene photos, and then let him examine the toxicology reports while Sherlock sipped his coffee (two sugars, just the way he liked it, how had John known that?).  John looked over them all thoughtfully and Sherlock could just hear the barest hum from his cpu.

“Have you considered aerosols?” John said after looking through all of the evidence.

“Aerosols?” Sherlock questioned his mind flipping back through the evidence, “Aerosols! Of course, how did I miss that? It’s so obvious. I have to call Lestrade.”  Sherlock slammed his mug onto the table, suddenly becoming animated with the thrill of a solution as he pulled his phone from his dressing gown pocket and dialled Lestrade. “It was the brother. Find and test the victim’s inhaler and there will be traces of the poison.” Sherlock spoke quickly and hung up without a goodbye.

“Ahh excellent John!” Sherlock smiled widely, and John returned it with a grin.

 

* * *

   

It was in small ways that John made himself indispensable to Sherlock over the next couple of months.  He was generally unobtrusive and efficient.  Cups of tea or coffee appeared or disappeared, and the layer of general filth covering the flat slowly diminished.  John listened, or offered insight when requested, and the compliments! Sherlock had never met anyone who seemed so awed by his mind, and not offput by his abrasiveness.  Soon Sherlock couldn’t remember how he had gone about solving cases without a sounding board, let alone one who seemed to praise his every deduction.

There were only three things on which John had seemed to have taken a firm stance that, try as he might, Sherlock could not get past.  Sherlock noticed the first only a few days after his arrival.

“John.  John!” Sherlock bellowed, his voice reverberating off the walls.

“Yes, Sherlock?” John responded, poking his head out of the kitchen.

“Where are they?” Sherlock said, aware of the desperation in his voice.

“Where are what?”

“You know damn well what! Where are my cigarettes?”

“I was informed you had quit smoking. There are nicotine patches in the bathroom cabinet.” John replied, infuriatingly calm.  Sherlock would have thought he was winding him up if he thought an android was capable of that.  

He let out an infuriated roar, “stop throwing away all of my cigarettes! I will make Mycroft take you back and have you melted down for scrap!” Sherlock snarled, pushing past John and into the bathroom where he tore into the pack of nicotine patches and angrily slapped one onto his forearm.  He sneered and waved the patch in John’s face as he went back out to the living room, in a kind of ‘happy now?’ gesture, and indeed, he saw a small smile tug at the corners of John’s mouth, nearly a smirk.

Mycroft must have programmed him to tackle his little smoking habit.  Every time he thought he had hidden his secret stash of cigarettes where John would never find them, they were always gone again within a day, sometimes even cheekily replaced with a box of nicotine patches instead.  It was infuriating, but Sherlock had to admit that the patches had their advantages, especially with the application of more than one.  

The second thing that John would not compromise on was sleep, or at least rest.  He insisted that Sherlock attempt to sleep for four hours each night.  Sherlock knew that John stood outside his bedroom door, ensuring that he stayed in bed, whether asleep or not, for those four hours.  It made him feel like a child, but the few times he had attempted to simply go back to work, or even read a book, John had interfered; either taking away every scrap of reading material from his room, or making him a glass of warm milk and hustling him back into bed in such a caring manner that Sherlock found himself incapable of even arguing. And arguing was practically what Sherlock was best at.

To his surprise, he actually started sleeping for some of those hours, and began to fight back less and less when John insisted he go to bed.  Sherlock wasn’t sure when exactly John recharged, and he mostly left John to his own devices, and his devices seemed to mostly revolve around caring for the flat and helping Sherlock with cases whenever there was a particularly interesting one on.

Sherlock did notice that John seemed to watch him a lot, especially when he thought Sherlock was otherwise occupied, or couldn’t see him.  Sherlock chalked it up to the fact that John was always on the lookout for things he could do for Sherlock, or the state of his health.  He actually found it almost endearing.  No one had ever really looked after him before, except for Mycroft, and Sherlock found John’s presence much less irritating, it was even starting to verge on pleasant.

It was the third thing that John wouldn’t compromise on that gave Sherlock the most trouble, and lead to … well to something that Sherlock would never have deduced.

“You’re underweight.” John tsked, placing a plate of toast and eggs next to Sherlock’s laptop.  “You have to eat.”

“I’m busy, John. Food will only slow me down. Just coffee today.” Sherlock said, pushing the plate away.  There was a triple homicide, in fact, a triplet homicide and Sherlock was incredibly occupied with the sordid details of the murders of the three boys.  Or maybe murder-suicides, he hadn’t quite worked it out yet, but surely bogging his digestive system down wouldn’t help his mind any.

“One egg, and one piece of toast Sherlock.” John said, clearly not letting the issue slide.

“Go away John. You are being incredibly annoying.” Sherlock said archly, throwing an acidic glance his way.

Sherlock heard John give a simulated huff of breath, his eyebrows knitting together in a perfect counterfeit of frustration.  “This is your last warning Sherlock. You will eat one egg, and one piece of toast this instant, or there will be consequences.”

Sherlock scoffed, sweeping up out of his chair to stand over the much shorter droid.  “Are you threatening me? What exactly are you going to do? Stop making the tea?” Sherlock taunted.  “I do not eat while I’m working. End of discussion.” Sherlock reiterated, sure that John would just stand down, drop the issue for today and try again tomorrow.

It all happened so fast that the first thing Sherlock was really aware of was the fact that John’s face was so close to his that he could read the brand name etched around John’s artificial irises, and watch as the apertures of the lenses that made up his pupils expanded and constricted as he focused his vision.  The next thing was the pain radiating from his wrists, which were held fast to the wall on either side of his head.  Ahh, he was up against a wall too.

John just started at him, seeming to observe Sherlock’s reaction to the sudden violence, and waiting for him to say or do something, anything.  Sherlock realized he was breathing heavily and there was a distinct tingle of excitement running down his spine.

“John, you’re hurting me.” Sherlock said quietly, unsure of what was about to happen, or what had made John get so suddenly physical with him.

John pressed in closer, shoving a knee between Sherlock’s thighs.  “And you like it.” John practically growled at him.  Sherlock’s mind was spinning, his heart thudding almost painfully against his ribs.  John should not have been able to hurt him.  He should be bound by restrictive programming to even be allowed anywhere near civilians.  Sherlock wondered vaguely if Mycroft knew he had given him a possibly deadly android.

John sighed and his grip on Sherlock’s wrists loosened, but he didn’t let go.  “You will eat your breakfast as I have requested, Sherlock.  You will eat a minimum of one full meal a day from now on. Have I made myself clear?”  John’s expression was stony, and his gaze pierced unsettlingly into Sherlock.  For the first time since he had arrived, it was clear to Sherlock that John had been a soldier.

He swallowed hard, confused by the sudden change in demeanor in John, and even his own reaction to it.  He felt compelled to obey, something he had never really felt before.  He also realized that he was growing hard in his pyjama bottoms.  That was embarrassing.  No wonder John had claimed he was enjoying being in pain.

“Well?” John insisted.

Sherlock fought the urge rising in him to do whatever John asked, and instead answered with a testy, “why should I?” while carefully avoiding John’s gaze.

“Why should you, Sherlock? Do you have to make everything so difficult? I only want you to look after yourself.  I have asked a bare minimum of you and still, still you refuse to even eat enough to keep yourself functioning.  I care for you, Sherlock, I want you to be healthy.” John responded, his face the perfect picture of concern when Sherlock dared to look back at him.

“You don’t care for me John, you were simply programmed to look after me.” Sherlock sighed, surprised by his own disappointment at what he knew was the truth.

“I don’t think you understand what my upgrades entailed.” John said softly, pressing his hips into Sherlock’s thigh so he could feel (to Sherlock’s complete shock) the bulge there.  “I’m a _fully functional companion_ now, Sherlock.  They gave me emotions along with the rest of it, and yes they may just be electrical echoes through my processors and wiring, but they feel real to me.  You make me feel things.  You infuriate me and impress me and a thousand things in between.  I didn’t ask for this Sherlock, but here I am, and I’m just trying to care for you in the only ways I know how.”

Sherlock was taken aback by the confession, the revelation that John hadn’t just been upgraded for domestic service like he had thought.  How could he have missed that?  He had heard about companion androids, but they were highly experimental, very rare, and not to mention completely taboo.  Androids with simulated emotions, unique personalities, and functional, responsive sex organs - entirely unmentionable outside the small circle of people who could even imagine affording such a thing.

“John…” Sherlock started, but was quickly cut off as John rose up and pressed his mouth firmly over Sherlock’s.  He tasted predominantly of mint with a vague metallic edge and the synthetic skin of his lips was soft, and his tongue -- oh god, it was wet and insistent and felt utterly alive.  Sherlock let out an involuntary moan which seemed to only spurr John on.

John’s hands tightened again on Sherlock’s wrists.  He felt the force of John’s fingers, maybe it was enough to leave bruises circling around his pale skin.  Sherlock felt a shudder run down his spine at the thought of it, ending in his hips thrusting forward, his clothed erection pressing into John’s stomach.  John responded by sucking Sherlock’s lower lip between his teeth and biting down.  Sherlock groaned, completely undone, his cheeks hot and his breathing rapid while his thoughts flitted between _more more more_ , and _this is so wrong, so wonderfully wrong ._

“I want you Sherlock, and I know what you need.  I want to give you everything, will you take it?” John asked, his voice low, dripping with desire, but thoroughly coloured with absolute control.  Sherlock knew what he was asking, knew what he would be agreeing to if he said yes.  But, how could he say no?  No one had ever offered him this before.  He hadn’t even realized he had wanted it, but he did, he wanted it so very badly.  Badly enough to overlook the fact that the one doing the offering was synthetic, non-human, and he had very little idea what that actually entailed.

“Yes.” Sherlock breathed.  It came out small and quivering, but he meant it.  John responded with a quick flash of a grin.

“Good.  Bedroom, now.” John said and released Sherlock from his grip and the warm press of his fabricated body almost as quickly as he had restrained him.


	2. Chapter 2

“John I should.  I should probably tell you.”  Sherlock faltered, John’s hands pushing his robe off his shoulders and John’s lips sucking bruises into his neck left him seemingly incapable of forming a complete sentence.  It didn’t help that he was attempting to admit something he had never actually told anyone, though many people seemed to assume it anyway.  Sherlock swallowed and tried again.  “John, I’m … I haven’t…”

“I know,” John interrupted, ceasing his attention on Sherlock’s neck and looking him in the eye.  “I know Sherlock, but what did I tell you?  I know what you need.”  John moved his hand up to grip Sherlock’s chin firmly, tilting his head down slightly and making him maintain eye contact.  “I’m not going to be gentle with you, Sherlock, but you wouldn’t like gentle.  Now, do you trust me?”

“Yes.” Sherlock said breathlessly, a shiver running through him.  Anticipation, he observed, and arousal like he had never felt before.

“And you are going to behave for me, yes?”

“Yes.” Sherlock moaned out as he felt a hot blush spread across his cheeks.

“And if you need to stop you will tell me so, yes?”

“Yes, John.”

“Good boy.” John smiled predatorily at him then kissed him hard on the mouth.  Sherlock felt himself melt into it, his lips opening to allow John’s tongue entrance as he met it with his own. John tugged at Sherlock’s shirt, lifting it up over his head before sliding his hands (smooth, warm, firm) down Sherlock’s back, past the waistbands of his pyjama bottoms and pants.  John gave his arse a rough, possessive squeeze before gripping both waistbands and pulling Sherlock’s remaining clothes down to his knees.

John gave Sherlock a hard shove backward onto the bed, bending over briefly to free Sherlock’s feet from his pyjamas and pants.  Sherlock felt exposed and overwhelmed, but his entire body thrummed with anticipation and his cock twitched between his legs, achingly hard already.  Sherlock looked up at John, and moaned low in his throat when John reached forward to card his fingers through Sherlock’s hair, nails grazing his sensitive scalp.

“Stay where you are.  I’ll be right back.” John said, giving Sherlock a brief kiss before walking out of the room.  Sherlock listened to him make his way up to his own room and chewed his lower lip while he waited.  He wiggled his toes on the hardwood, feeling more than a little out of his element, but he realized quite suddenly that that was okay.  John was right.  How was John always right? He knew exactly what Sherlock needed, always had, right from day one, knew it better than Sherlock did himself.

Sherlock felt a flutter in his chest at the sound of John’s quiet footsteps returning to the bedroom and looked up expectantly.  He imagined he looked more than a little needy, not to mention flushed pink across his cheeks and ears.  John smiled at him and Sherlock shyly returned it, aware of his nakedness which contrasted starkly with John still being fully clothed.  

Sherlock realized he didn’t know what John would look like underneath those clothes.  Whether the deft veracity of his features, the detail in his synthetic skin, would extend beyond his hands and face.  Would he have pubic hair? Freckles? What would his cock look like? Could he achieve orgasm of some sort or would he receive no pleasure from sex? Would they bother giving an android the ability to feel sexual pleasure, even one as complex and expressly built for it as John?

“Ahh!” Sherlock shouted as the flash of pain from sharp teeth biting ruthlessly into the top of his shoulder filtered up to break through the maze of questions that flashed through his mind.

John licked the darkening bruise. “Mmm there you are.  Don’t wander off like that again, pet.”  Sherlock swallowed thickly, brought abruptly back into the moment to find John standing over him looking dark and powerful and attractive.  Sherlock wasn’t quite sure he had realized before how handsome John was in his clean-cut way.  The deep blue of his eyes, the set of his mouth, the way his smile lit up his entire face.  So obvious, and yet he had somehow missed it.  

Sherlock squirmed as John ran his hands down his chest, skimming over his ribs and then back up to dip his fingers into the hollows of Sherlock’s collarbones.  “You’re so thin Sherlock.  Skin and bones.”  John kissed up the side of Sherlock’s long neck, licked and bit at his earlobe as his hands trailed back down, stopping to graze his thumbs over Sherlock’s nipples.  “You know I could break you in two if I wanted.”  John whispered huskily, drawing a low moan from Sherlock.  “It wouldn’t even be hard.”  John gave a fierce pinch to one of Sherlock’s nipples for emphasis.

Sherlock moaned and squirmed, utterly shameless under John’s ministrations. John backed off briefly and tugged his blue striped long sleeved shirt off, giving Sherlock his first look at a larger expanse of John’s synthetic skin.  It was perfect.  Sherlock couldn’t help but reach out to touch, but John quickly caught his wrists, gripping them tightly as he tsked at Sherlock.  “Now now, I don’t think you’ve earned that yet.  I know you’re curious Sherlock, and if you’re good for me I’ll let you touch all you want, answer all your questions, but for now we do things my way. Understood?”

Sherlock bit his lower lip and nodded numbly, staring at the smooth planes of John’s chest, his small pink nipples, and the barest swell of a tummy.  He had a belly button, a smattering of chest hair, and he was flawless - looked absolutely human.  Not a seam or an inaccuracy or any corners cut like he had seen with common androids.  John seemed to let him look, still holding his wrists, but patiently enduring Sherlock’s scrutiny.  “Oh, John.” Sherlock breathed, “you’re incredible.”

John hummed in response, pinning Sherlock’s wrists down on the edge of the bed, on either side of Sherlock’s thighs, and bending down to kiss him hard on the mouth.  “I feel the same way about you.” John said quietly, wrapping his fingers around Sherlock’s cock, making his eyelids flutter shut and a desperate keening noise seemed to claw its way out of his throat.

John’s hand set off sparks and shivers that ran up from Sherlock’s cock and out to the very tips of his fingers and toes.  When John gave a slow tug, Sherlock’s breath caught and he felt his mind wash out, bright, and white, and brilliant.  He stared up at John, making a choked noise that he hoped would communicate the need he felt building up inside himself.  

John gave a low chuckle and urged Sherlock up onto the bed and crawled up after him.  “On your knees for me, pet.” John said, and Sherlock did as he was told, flipping himself over to rest on his knees and forearms, his arse in the air.  He felt John settle himself in behind him, then his hands roughly grabbing and spreading his arse cheeks.  Sherlock felt exposed and embarrassed and buried his face into a pillow, muffling the involuntary sounds he was making.  

Suddenly John’s hands were gone, and just before Sherlock could wonder what he was doing, the palm of his hand came down hard on Sherlock’s right arse cheek.  Sherlock nearly shouted - part from the sting of the blow, and part from the surprise of it.  Soon after came another, then another, and another, on alternating cheeks until there were tears in Sherlock’s eyes and he was sure his entire arse would be a bright and smarting red. He wasn’t even sure how many it was, only that each successive slap hurt more than the one before it and he couldn’t help but yell or groan or gasp with each one.   

It hurt so much, stung, and his skin felt hot, but god did it feel good.  He had been in fights before, innumerable ones, resulting in bruises, stitches and the occasional sprained rib so he was well aware of the way pain often heightened his senses, but this was different.  This was extraordinary and intensely arousing.

John ran his hands up Sherlock’s back, draping himself over Sherlock’s body, his mouth right by Sherlock’s ear and his jeans feeling rough against Sherlock’s tender backside. “Such a good boy for me, Sherlock.  Did you like that?”  John asked, and Sherlock could only moan and nod in response.  “You’re pretty mouth is all out of words, huh? I like that.”  John growled in his ear, thrusting his hips forward, his clothed erection pressing between Sherlock’s arse cheeks.

Sherlock whimpered.  John’s praise and chiding affected him equally, and made him feel small and owned, but most of all he felt completely taken care of.  John straightened up again and Sherlock heard the small pop of a cap being flipped open, again as it was shut, then one of John’s hands was spreading his tender arse as cold, slick fingers nudged up against his hole.

Sherlock buried his face in the pillow again, his whole body tense as he waited for John to press a finger inside of him.  He trembled violently when John instead reached around to stroke his leaking cock, his fingers just continuing their slow circling around his arsehole.  Sherlock couldn’t help but thrust his hips into John’s loose fist, and John let him, but as he did so he stilled his fingers.  With each thrust back Sherlock felt John’s finger enter him a little more.  It felt invasive, strange, but the majority of his attention was on John’s other hand, the one that was languidly tugging on his hard cock.  

Soon Sherlock realized that he had an entire finger inside of him.  It felt large and oddly slippery with the lubricant, but not painful.  John stopped stroking Sherlock’s cock with his other hand and slid it back to grip Sherlock’s arse cheek hard, the short nails, which would never grow, never need trimming, left half-moon marks in Sherlock’s skin.  John started to move his finger in and almost out of Sherlock’s hole, wiggling and twisting it, slowly relaxing the tight ring of muscles.  “God you’re tight.”  John remarked as he struggled to fit a second finger into Sherlock.  The stretch burned now and Sherlock groaned into the pillow.  “Mmm I know pet, but you can handle it.  And once you’re ready I’m going to fuck you so hard you’ll forget everything in that beautiful mind of yours except the feeling of my cock up your arse.”  John twisted his fingers roughly inside of Sherlock with that.

Sherlock let out a needy moan.  He wanted this, wanted John, wanted the way he seemed to know exactly the right mix of praise and punishment that set Sherlock’s blood on fire.  John thrust and wiggled his fingers, scissored and spread them inside Sherlock’s tightness and Sherlock whined and groaned at the sensations.  When John fit a third finger inside of him Sherlock could hardly believe it, even though he was well aware of the mechanical realities of the act.  

Mechanical was perhaps a poor choice of words, Sherlock realized belatedly, but it was getting harder and harder to think of the android as anything but just John.  His John. John with his perfect compact movements and stubbornness that could compete with his own.

It felt like ages that John worked his fingers in and out of Sherlock’s arsehole, not satisfied until he could fit three fingers in nearly all the way without a whine of complaint about the stretch.  John pulled his fingers out, caressed Sherlock’s hip.  “Flip over for me.” he said, getting down off the bed as Sherlock slowly turned over to lay on his back.

Sherlock, his eyes wide and dark with arousal, his curls sticking damply to his forehead, watched as John unbuttoned his jeans and pushed them off his hips.  No pants. Sherlock licked his lips.  He took the view in hungrily, both his desire for John and his thirst for information about the way his synthetic body worked driving him to gather as much visual information as he could.  “Oh, John” he practically sighed.  He was faultless, gorgeous, his synthetic skin completely indistinguishable from a human except the fact he had nothing where testicles would normally be.  He had dark blonde pubic hair framing his thick, oh god it was thick, hard cock.  The tip was flushed a dark pink, almost red, and had the appearance of being circumcised.  It looked completely realistic, natural, as though John had been born instead of manufactured.

John gave him a quick flash of a grin before climbing back up on the bed.  Sherlock just stared up at him as he made himself comfortable between his thighs, urging him to spread them wide.  John found the tube of lubricant again and squeezed some into his palm before slicking himself up.  Sherlock let out a broken moan watching John touch himself, spreading the shiny lube liberally with one hand while the other rested warmly on Sherlock’s knee. John licked his lips, and gave a small moan as he stroked his hard cock, and the sound made Sherlock squirm.

“P-please John.”  Sherlock stuttered. “I want it.”  In fact, other than the drugs and possibly cigarettes, Sherlock had never felt he wanted something so badly before.  It was both physical and mental as his body cried out to be filled, and for release, and his mind reeled with curiosity about what that thick cock would feel like inside of him.

“Mmm so eager.” John mumbled, pushing Sherlock’s knee up into his chest and shifting forward until the tip of his cock was brushing against Sherlock’s prepared hole.  Sherlock clutched the sheets and tried to control his increasingly erratic breathing.  John pushed forward and Sherlock’s mouth opened in a soundless scream and his eyes rolled back in his head. Jesus that burned.  Sherlock felt like he was being torn in two and he struggled to fill his lungs with a gasping, shuddering breath.  “That’s it Sherlock, you can take it, can’t you?”

Sherlock took another ragged breath and looked up at John.  He looked amazing, mad with want, but was holding back until Sherlock gave him the go ahead.  One more breath and Sherlock nodded decisively, the burn was starting to subside a little and he was fairly sure the initial entry was to be the worst of it.  Sherlock squeezed his eyes shut against the pain.

“Good boy.” John moaned, pushing further inside Sherlock, slowly, carefully, not wanting to do him any damage.  He thrust forward, then pulled out, then thrust himself in further until he was pressed up flush against Sherlock’s body.  Only then, when John stilled inside him, did Sherlock open his eyes again.

Sherlock looked into John’s eyes, let out a held lungful of air and watched the apertures shift focus as John met his gaze.  John smirked almost imperceptibly at him as he shifted to grip Sherlock’s hip with one hand, while the other slid up the back of his thigh, holding that leg up to give him better access.  Sherlock felt so completely full of John, the stretch still burned, but it wasn’t as bad as it had been at first.  He felt his insides pulse around John’s hard cock and shivered at the sensation.

John held him still for a minute, watched and waited while Sherlock stared up at him, took quivering breaths and clutched at the sheets compulsively.  John slid himself nearly all the way out of Sherlock, then slammed back in forcefully, making Sherlock arch off the bed and give a stuttered moan.  It was an amazing sensation -- at once violent and intimate, and the friction was admittedly delicious.  John waited another moment before again giving a powerful thrust.

Sherlock moaned and called out and writhed underneath John as he mercilessly fucked him.  He was unrelenting and his brow was furrowed in concentration, but Sherlock noticed he didn’t sweat or flush.  He did, however, make incredible noises; sharp huffs of breath and low groans, and the occasional near growl.  They were driving Sherlock insane.  He reached up to cup the back of John’s neck, craving more physical contact, and his fingers brushed against the various ports low on the back of John’s neck, usually hidden by his shirt collars.  He traced each one with the tips of his fingers before pulling John down for a kiss.

John gripped tighter onto his hip, pushed Sherlock’s leg up higher and kissed him hard on the mouth, teeth scraping together and lips mashing with almost bruising force.  “You feel so good, Sherlock.  So tight.  So hot.  I’m going to make you come so hard, pet.  I want to watch you, want to hear you scream my name.”

“O-oh god.” Sherlock gasped, John’s words going straight to his leaking cock.  John straightened up again, started thrusting into Sherlock’s arse with renewed vigour.  His thrusts were almost painfully hard and came in such quick succession that Sherlock could only focus on the feel of it, and trying to get enough air in his lungs.

“Come on, touch yourself for me, pet.” John said, not breaking pace.

Sherlock did as he requested and wrapped a hand around his stiff cock.  He stroked himself quickly, roughly, the pleasure that had been coiling up tightly inside of him was ready to spring.  With each of John’s thrusts, and with each upstroke of his own hand Sherlock was nearing the edge, but he didn’t dare orgasm until John told him to.  He needed John to tell him to come.  Craved his permission, approval, praise, even his punishment - he wanted it all desperately now.  So desperately, urgently.  “God, John, please … please!” Sherlock begged.

“Mmm go ahead then, come for me Sherlock.”

Sherlock let out a whimpering sob and gripped his cock tighter, tugged once, twice more and yelled “John!” as he painted his own chest and stomach with come.  His orgasm tore through him like nothing he had ever experienced.  His vision blurred, his muscles tensed nearly to the point of cramping, and he stopped breathing lest it dull the feeling, shorten the experience.  Eventually his body began to relax again into a twitching and sweaty mass and he heaved in a breath.

John was staring down at him transfixed. “Incredible” he mumbled, still driving himself again and again into Sherlock’s tight arsehole.  “Just, oh, just a little more,” he breathed shakily, closing his eyes and holding onto Sherlock’s hip so hard Sherlock was sure he would have five perfectly shaped bruises curving around his hipbone.  “Ahh!” John shouted, “Ohh yes, Sherlock, fuck yes!”  John’s face contorted with pleasure and he buried himself to the hilt inside of Sherlock, who felt his cock pulse inside of him, although there was no wet sensation accompanying it.  John let out a long groan and threw his head back, eventually loosening his grip and pulling his softening cock out of Sherlock’s tender arse.

“Fantastic,” he hummed, reaching over to the bedside table to grab some tissues.  He quickly cleaned Sherlock off.  Sherlock for his part, was laying boneless and too warm and feeling hazy, slightly winded, and _sore_.  So pleasantly sore and wrung out completely.  Apparently John could have something similar to an orgasm and the thought of it gave Sherlock an eager kind of thrill.

John flopped down heavily on the bed next to him, wrapped an arm possessively across Sherlock’s chest and pulled him in close.  Sherlock felt he was meant to say something at this point, but he wasn’t exactly sure what sort of something it was.  “John, I … uhh, that is to say, you …”

“Sherlock, I would like you to stop talking now please. My processor needs a minute to cool down after that.  Just answer two questions for me.  First, did you like that?”

“Very much so.”

“Good.  Now, second, would you like to sleep for a while, or shall I make you some food once my systems are all functioning again?”

“Sleep please, John.”  Sherlock answered.  He felt bone tired, completely exhausted like after a particularly exciting case.

“Good Sherlock, very good.” John whispered, pulling a blanket up over them both and petting Sherlock’s curls.  Sherlock smiled to himself, it felt so right being wrapped up in John’s arms, and his praise was better than nicotine.  Maybe if he ate something after his sleep John would let him examine him thoroughly, let him touch, and ask until he knew absolutely everything there was to know about John.  Maybe, Sherlock yawned, maybe John would fuck him up against the wall next time.  John pulled him in closer, nuzzled his face into Sherlock’s neck and Sherlock drifted off to sleep dreaming about access ports and strong fingers on his wrists, and the android he had given himself over to.

 


End file.
